Petrichor
by Sweet Lunacy
Summary: He isn't sure how much longer he can watch her self-destruct. Jibbs. Trigger warning: self harm. Oneshot.


**A/N: This came to me while re-watching seasons 3-5 of NCIS. The title comes from the word _petrichor_, meaning the smell of the earth after it rains. You'll see why it's relevant later. This deals with mature themes such as self harm and sexual content. If you are not comfortable reading this, you have been warned. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

It occurred to her, as she made her way down the hallway, that she was drunk. It had been so long since she'd been properly drunk that she wasn't quite sure how to react. Her movements were slower, less graceful, and she sank down to her knees, running her fingers through her hair. Looking back, she couldn't remember why she had felt the need to numb her pain with alcohol, but ultimately, it didn't matter. Months of trying to prove herself as the Director of a federal agency, of trying to ignore the chauvinistic remarks of her colleagues, of overall exhaustion were beginning to take their toll on her.

She felt around in the pocket of her blazer for the small knife that she always carried and without pausing to consider her actions, she sliced it across her wrist. Her eyes widened at the rush of blood and for a split second, she was concerned. The low knock at her door drew her attention away from her arm and as she shakily stood to answer it, she felt the ribbon of blood soak into her sleeve.

When her tired green eyes took in the last person she wanted to see, she sighed. Jethro took in her disheveled appearance, the way she was leaning heavily on the door frame, and frowned.

"Jen?"

"What can I help you with, Special Agent Gibbs?" she asked, her voice betraying her exhaustion.

"You forgot to sign off on the team's overtime," he answered, holding up a folder.

Without thinking, she reached for the folder, and his eyes landed on her injured arm.

"Jen. You're bleeding."

She looked down at her arm and laughed softly.

"Huh. So I am," she murmured.

"Are you drunk?"

She shook her head and reached again for the folder. Her heel gave out from underneath her and she stumbled. Instinctively, he caught her in his arms and as she laid her head against his chest, he frowned again.

"Right. Come on, let's get you inside."

Careful of her injured arm, Jethro led her into her townhouse, closing the door behind him. Once inside the living room, he placed her carefully on the couch, and knelt in front of her to examine her.

"What happened to your arm?"

She shook her head.

"It's nothing."

Her voice was slurred, and when he looked into her eyes, he could see the shine from the bourbon.

"Jenny, what happened?"

"I told you, it was nothing."

She was angry now, and roughly pulled away from him. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the glint of silver on the floor and reached for it. He held it up in front of her eyes and when she refused to look at him, he sighed.

"How long?"

Still, she wouldn't meet his gaze and he tried again.

"Jen..." his voice was soft, almost pleading, "how long?"

"This time, or in general?"

"This time."

"A few months."

She reached for the glass of bourbon she had left on the floor and drained it in seconds. A violent shudder ran through her body and he placed his finger under her chin.

"Will you at least let me help you clean it?"

"Jethro?"

"Hm?"

"Don't hate me."

"I could never hate you, Jenny."

Before he knew what had happened, her lips were on his and his eyes closed of their own accord. For a few moments, he lost himself in her: the scent of her perfume like the ground after the rain, her hair slipping through his fingers, the soft moan that escaped her lips as his tongue danced over hers. As soon as his mind realised what was happening, he pulled away, looking at her seriously.

"Jenny..."

He didn't know what he wanted to say, so he trailed off.

"I know," she said quietly, "I shouldn't have done that."

He stood and made his way into the bathroom, searching for the first aid kit that he knew was hidden there. When he returned and began to gently bandage her still-bleeding arm, he finally knew what he wanted to say.

"All those scars...in Paris...it wasn't accidental, was it?"

Wordlessly, the redhead shook her head and he felt a tear land on his fingers. As soon as he had finished, he wrapped his arms around her tiny frame, placing a kiss on her temple.

"Why, Jen? When did it start?"

"I was thirteen," she said, her voice muffled against his chest, "I didn't know how to deal with my father's death. It was the only thing that helped."

"And now? Why now?"

She shook her head and he pretended that he couldn't feel her tears dampening his shirt.

"I don't know. That's what scares me. It was like I just snapped. Once I got back into it, I couldn't stop."

He pulled back to look at her and for the first time, he noticed the dark circles under her eyes and just how pale she had become. He ran his hand through her hair and cupped her cheek lightly.

"Will you let me help you?"

She was silent for a long moment and finally she nodded, refusing to look at him. She buried her face in his chest and he tightened his hold on her.

"Jethro?" she whispered.

"Yeah?"

"I'm scared."

"I know," he kissed her head gently, "It's okay. You don't have to do this alone. I'll be here when you need me. I promise."

* * *

Jenny sighed and ran her hand through her hair, pulling it from the long ponytail she'd taken to wearing it in. Another long and frustrating day was now behind her, and she needed a drink in the worst way. She filled the crystal tumbler with bourbon and drank it down in one, her body shaking as it fully hit. She could feel tears prickling her eyes and when she shut them tightly, a few escaped. Her fingers ached for a blade and as she reached for her phone, she couldn't stop the sob that fell from her lips.

With each ring, she was becoming more desperate, and when she heard the familiar click of voicemail picking up, she sobbed again.

"Jethro, I—I need to talk to you. Please, please pick up. Please."

She hung up the phone and it fell from her suddenly numb fingers. It hit the hardwood floor with a clatter and she crawled on her hands and knees to the liquor cabinet, frantically swallowing any alcohol that she could lay her hands on. Her head was swimming and she clawed desperately at the drawer where she knew she had hidden a blade. At last, her thin fingers closed around the silver and she dragged it across her thigh, not even caring that her skirt would stain. Faintly, she heard her phone ring and she pulled herself across the floor and placed it to her ear.

"Jen? Are you okay? Jen? Jen, answer me."

A small whimper was all she could manage and her eyes closed.

"Jenny, I'm on my way."

She couldn't find her voice, and when she heard the click of the phone hanging up, she had the most absurd desire to laugh. She forced herself into a sitting position and began dragging the blade across her skin again, no longer able to feel the pain as the blade sank deeper and deeper.

* * *

When Jethro's eyes adjusted to the dim light in Jenny's study, they widened at the sight before him. Sprawled on the floor, an overturned tumbler next to her hand, carving patterns into her skin, was Jenny, oblivious to the blood pouring over her fingers. He crossed the room in two steps and knelt in front of her, placing his hand over hers to stop her movements.

"Jen, stop."

She didn't appear to have heard him, and he grabbed her wrist in his hand. It struck him how thin she was at that moment, but there were more pressing matters to deal with.

"Jen, stop. Give me the blade. Come on."

He pried her fingers loose from the blade and it fell onto the floor. He grabbed it before she could react and placed it on the desk next to them. She was staring blankly at her hand and he looked at her worriedly.

"Jen, I'll be right back. I need to get some towels."

In less than a minute he had returned, pressing the towels to her bleeding leg as hard as he dared. She didn't wince as he would have expected and he raised her face to look at him.

"Hey," he said gently, "can you hear me?"

She nodded and he carefully picked her up, carrying her to the bathroom and placing her on the edge of the bathtub. He ran warm water over the towel in his hand and gently began cleaning the angry gashes on her skin. It occurred to him that she might be embarrassed at his pushing up her skirt, but then again, it wasn't anything he hadn't already seen. When he was satisfied with the cleanliness of her legs, he bandaged her up and carried her into the bedroom. After helping her change into more comfortable clothing and getting her settled in bed, he sat down and watched her. She hadn't spoken a word and it was beginning to worry him.

"Jen, please. Talk to me. What happened?"

"I...I don't know. I just needed a drink and I wanted to cut so badly. I tried calling you, but you didn't answer. It...it just happened."

He tried to pretend that he didn't notice the way her voice broke or the tears shining in her eyes as she stared up at him. He wrapped his arms around her and when he felt her body shaking, he placed his lips to the top of her head.

"Jen...Oh, Jen, I'm so sorry."

"What? What about rule number-"

"The hell with it. I should have been there when you needed me. Rules don't apply. Not here. Not with us. Not with you."

She pulled away from him then, fixing him with a look that he couldn't quite name. When she placed her hand on the side of his face, he closed his eyes briefly.

"Jethro?"

"Hmm?"

"Would you do something for me?"

"What?"

"Help me forget."

"How do I-"

Her lips crashed against his and when he pulled back to look at her, she tried to stop him.

"Jen...I can't. I don't want to take advantage of you."

She shook her head, her long red hair sticking to her cheek.

"You're not. Please. Just for tonight. I need this."

His resolve was faltering, but still he shook his head.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"We can be careful. Jethro, please. I need this now. I need you."

He knew it was the alcohol talking, knew it was her sheer desperation, but he couldn't stop himself from bringing his lips to hers. She threaded her fingers through his silver hair, gasping when his lips grazed her throat and he ran his fingers lightly over her skin. Through the fabric of her sweatpants, he touched her inner thigh and she kissed him harder.

"Jen. Tell me if I hurt you."

She nodded, pulling him closer.

"I will," she whispered against his lips, "Touch me."

One hand wound into her silken hair, and the other pushed the hem of her shirt up, touching her skin more gently than she would have thought possible. He slipped his hand beneath the waistband of her sweatpants and lightly tugged them down, never once breaking their kiss. His fingers found the lace of her underwear and he could already feel how much she wanted him. He leaned his head down and kissed her stomach, loving the way she kept her hands in his hair. He moved back to her lips and as his tongue danced over her own, he slipped his fingers into her slowly. She moaned and gripped his shoulders tightly, her breath catching in her throat. The vibration of her voice made him shiver and he curled his fingers inside of her.

"Jethro," she whispered, "don't stop."

All too happy to comply, he moved his fingers again, and she jerked in his arms. She moaned against his lips and she bit down on his lip as his hand moved faster.

"_Christ_, Jen."

She trailed her hand down his body, and when her hand touched his bare skin, his hips moved of their own accord.

"Jen..."

He wasn't sure why, but it was a warning. He wanted this to be about her. Instead, he focused on her shaking body and he could feel her tightening around his fingers. He flicked his thumb against her and she cried out, arching her body into his. He brought her down slowly, her hands still gripping his shoulders as if her life depended on it.

When she opened her eyes, he kissed her forehead lightly.

"Jethro," she whispered hoarsely.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

He smiled and pulled her into his arms.

"Did it help?"

She nodded. Her hand drew slow circles across his chest and he kissed the top of her head.

"Please, Jen. Talk to me. I don't want anything to happen to you."

"What do you want me to say?"

He frowned, thinking. It was a very loaded question.

"I want you to tell me the truth."

"I was doing well. I had it under control. But...somehow, it got lost along the way. The control, I mean."

It occurred to him that he hadn't truly looked at her injuries and he gestured for her to move.

"Take those off," he said, indicating her sweatpants.

"Once wasn't enough for you?"

He ignored her and switched on her bedside lamp.

"I need to check those cuts. Some of them looked pretty bad."

She sighed and began carefully removing them, suddenly very aware of his eyes on her. It wasn't like he hadn't seen her completely naked before, but something about this was much more intimate. As soon as he was able, he peeled back the bandages, he swore quietly as he took in the damage. They were much deeper than he had realised, and he reached out to touch them carefully.

"Oh, Jen..."

His voice was low, pained, and his touch was tender. He looked at her, his blue eyes piercing, and she had to avert her gaze.

"Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you feel sorry for me. I don't need your pity," she snapped.

He frowned and continued his assessment of her injuries.

"Where are they? The blades."

"Jethro, I don't need you confiscating my weapons. I'm not a child."

"No? Well, you obviously can't be trusted with them. I need to know that you're safe."

"Since when do you care?"

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, but she caught the flash of pain in his eyes.

"I've always cared, Jen. Haven't you?"

He stood and tossed her the clothing she had discarded without so much as a glance. Just as he reached the door, her quiet voice stopped him.

"Jethro?"

It was so soft he nearly missed it. He turned.

"They're in the bathroom cabinet."

He nodded and she heard him collecting the blades she had hidden under her sink. When her front door shut moments later, she smiled to herself before falling into a restless sleep.

* * *

The door of her office had been closed for all of twenty seconds when it flew open again. She sighed and lifted her head from her hands, looking at him wearily.

"Yes?"

"Need your signature."

"Couldn't you leave it with Cynthia?"

Jethro shook his head.

"Gone for the night, remember? Only workaholics like you stay here this late."

The glint of metal caught his eye and he noticed the gun on her desk. She was twisting it in her hands with an almost hypnotic look on her face. She wasn't really listening to him, and he noticed for the first time how exhausted she looked.

"Jen? You okay?"

She blinked and turned hazy eyes to him.

"Mhm. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Yeah, you can give me that."

She rolled her eyes halfheartedly at him and sighed.

"I don't need you confiscating my weapon. I'm fine."

"Last time I heard that, you ended up with huge gashes on your legs and we-"

"Okay," she interrupted softly, "shut up. Take it, if it will make you feel better."

She stood and handed him the firearm. He smirked and as he closed the door, he missed the glint of the knife she pulled out from her blazer pocket. She slid it slowly across her wrist, deeper than she'd ever gone before, and hissed in pain. Welcome though it was, it still hurt like hell. She wiped the blade clean and placed it back in her pocket, searching her cabinets for the bourbon she knew was waiting for her. She pointedly ignored the blood dripping onto her lap and carpet. Just as she raised the glass to her lips, her door opened again. She jumped, trying to hide her arm before he saw.

"One more thing. You—what's wrong?"

She frowned, thankful that her blazer had dark sleeves.

"Nothing. I was having a drink. Why?"

"You look pale."

She stood and made to push past him through the door. He grabbed her arm, and she winced as his hand closed over the open flesh.

"Jen?"

She blinked at him and he frowned.

"Can you let go? You're hurting my arm, Jethro."

He nodded, releasing her and before she had even made it to Cynthia's desk, she stumbled. He was by her side in an instant, and he lowered her into the chair behind the desk.

"I'm calling Ducky."

"No!" her voice was sharp, almost panicked, "I'm fine. Just let me catch my breath."

He raised his hand to run it through his hair and as it passed his eyes, he noticed the dark red staining it.

"Jen...what did you do?"

"Nothing. I told you, I'm fine."

He shook his head, anger flaring in his eyes. Anger at her for lying to him, and mostly, anger at himself for not seeing the evidence in front of him.

"Let me see it."

She met his gaze then, daring him to challenge her. He held it steadily, and when she saw that he wasn't relenting, she sighed. Wincing at the pain, she pushed up her sleeve, exposing the still-dripping cut that ran the length of her forearm. He examined it quickly before making his way to the catwalk.

"Stay there. I have bandages at my desk."

When he returned seconds later, she gasped as he applied as much pressure as he could to her arm.

"Hurts like hell."

"Good," he muttered.

"Excuse me?"

He raised his eyes to hers and they were colder than she'd ever seen them.

"I asked you to let me help you. You aren't even trying."

She nodded, ashamed of how they had ended up here.

"Jethro, I..."

He waited, still cleaning her arm.

"You _what_?" he snapped.

"I don't know how to ask for help. From anyone, but especially not you."

"Learn. Because the next time, I'm not going to be here."

She frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"If you ever do this again without even attempting to ask for help, I'm going to let you bleed out."

Now, she was angry.

"You wouldn't dare."

He locked his gaze with her own and she saw that he was deadly serious.

"If you won't help yourself, don't expect me to be your saviour."

She slapped him lightly with her free hand and he smirked.

"Someone thinks highly of himself."

He turned his attention back to her arm and after a few more moments, he stood, holding out his hand. She took his offered hand and when he leaned down to grab his coat, she placed a hand on his cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He brushed his lips against hers in response and he could feel her smile. She pulled away, and for the first time noticed the bags at his feet.

"What is that?"

"Dinner," he said simply.

"Are you planning on sharing?"

He smiled.

"Why do you think I came back?"

She led him back into her office and closed the door, waiting for him to open the bags he'd brought. She opened one of the containers and smiled.

"Steak?"

"Only the best."

He held out his fork, tempting her with the meat and as her lips closed around it, she smiled.

"I've missed this," she said quietly.

"Steak?"

"No," she said wistfully, "Us. You."

"I've missed you, too."

They continued to eat in silence. Every so often, she could feel his eyes on her, and when she glanced up, he quickly looked away.

"If you have something to say..."

"What did you use?" he asked quietly, indicating her arm.

"Does it matter?"

He nodded seriously.

"Yes."

She silently pulled the knife from her pocket and flipped it, holding out the handle to him. He took it and placed it in his own jacket, the pain in his eyes almost palpable.

"I need to know you're safe."

"Jethro, I-"

"Damn it, Jen, I can't lose you, too!"

She blinked back her tears, refusing to cry in front of him. Not again. She reached for his hand and held it close to her. She wasn't sure what to say, so she opted for silence.

"Why is it so hard for you to ask for help, Jen?"

She was quiet, trying to think of the best way to word her answer.

"It makes me feel...incompetent. Pathetic. It makes me feel damn worthless."

He took another bite of his steak and eyed her with a look of disbelief.

"You? Worthless? Not a chance."

She sipped the bourbon in her glass, swirling it around thoughtfully. He allowed her the time to think, and she closed her eyes slowly. She jumped slightly when she felt his hands on her shoulders and he rubbed her back soothingly.

"How long has it been since you've slept?"

She sighed and tipped her head back against his chest.

"I don't remember."

He continued to massage her shoulders and when one of his hands threaded into her hair, she moaned softly. He pointedly ignored the way her voice made him feel, and concentrated instead on her long hair. He had always loved her hair. Fiery, like blood when wet, a smoldering ember when dry. Sunlight set it ablaze, and he could only imagine that would be the best way to burn. Her voice, low and soft, tore him from his thoughts as she spoke his name.

"If you keep doing that, I'm going to fall asleep."

"Go ahead," he said with a smile.

"I'm so tired," she murmured, tears evident in her voice.

"I know. But you aren't alone."

She opened her eyes, impossibly green, and fixed him with a look that made his heart break.

"I feel like I am."

He spun her chair around so that she was facing him and knelt down to her eye level.

"Please, Jen. Talk to me when you feel that way. Nothing you could say would ever change the way I feel about you."

"And how is that?" she asked.

"I think you know."

"It's nice to hear it once in awhile, Jethro."

He cupped her cheek lightly and placed a light kiss on her lips. Without moving, he gave her the words he'd wanted to say ever since she'd come back into his life.

"I love you, Jen. Always have."

She smiled and kissed him again, pulling him close to her with her uninjured arm.

"I love you, too."

* * *

When Jenny's name flashed on his caller I.D., he quickly answered it without a thought.

"Are you okay?"

"Calm down, Jethro. Not every call is a national emergency. I just wanted to pick your brain for a minute."

"Shoot."

"If you had a late meeting and the information you needed hadn't been found yet, what would you do?"

"Ask them to postpone it," he said simply.

He heard her sigh and he shrugged, though she couldn't see it.

"What? You asked. I answered."

"No, it's just..why didn't think of that?"

"Because you're exhausted. Get some sleep."

"I can't, Gibbs. I have to meet with the SecNav in an hour."

He rolled his eyes.

"You work too much, Jen."

"Good night, Jethro."

The resounding click in his ear made him laugh. Her stubbornness never failed to amuse him. It would be the death of her, and it made her a hell of an agent/Director, but it would always make him laugh. He smiled to himself and took a long drink of the bourbon in his glass. Now, it was time to work on his boat.

* * *

"-the absolute _nerve_ of him implying that a man would be better suited for my job-"

"Jen, calm down."

She ignored him, pacing back and forth in his basement, tipping her drink back with a flourish. He watched her curiously, careful to make sure she didn't stumble.

"-and to say that maybe if I'd just been _fucked properly_ that maybe I would be more pleasant to work with-"

"Now _there's _an idea..."

"Shut up, Gibbs."

"Listen to me, okay?"

He reached out and stopped her movements with a soft hand on her arm. She turned to face him and frowned.

"Jen, you're good at your job. A pain in my ass, but good at your job. Those assholes are just trying to intimidate you. They're going to try to manipulate you. They'll tell you everything you wanted someone else to say. If you let them get to you, they'll break your heart."

She leaned forward and placed a feather-light kiss on his cheek. She finished her drink and he poured her another without waiting for her to ask.

"Did you know that Ziva rated Tony and McGee's butts?" she asked suddenly.

He raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

She nodded, and he found it difficult to follow her train of thought. He'd forgotten how chatty alcohol made her. She was still speaking, but he wasn't sure if even she knew what she was talking about.

"Jen. You're rambling."

She threw him a glare and continued speaking. She was jumping from topic to topic and it was making his head spin. When she was near enough, he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to him. He kissed her and her hand automatically found his chest, her fingers closing around his shirt.

"What was that for?"

"To make you stop talking."

She slapped his arm lightly, the smirk on her face making her glare much less intimidating.

"Were you even listening to me?"

He nodded.

"Yeah, but you were jumping subjects worse than Abby on Caf-POW. I was having trouble keeping up."

She kissed his cheek lightly, wiping away the trace of her lipstick and when he pulled her to him again, she had to fight the moan she could feel in her throat. Effortlessly, he picked her up and placed her on the worktable, pushing her down until she was laying flat on the surface. She was only slightly aware of the sawdust in her hair, but when he ran his fingers over her skin, she couldn't have cared less.

Jenny's pulse was racing and when his lips touched that place on her throat, the moan that fell from her lips took the form of his name. As his hands touched her, her breathless gasp made his head spin and he let his lips ghost over her skin. His fingers brushed over the cuts on her leg from the previous week and she jumped, pulling away from him. Immediately, he remembered and searched her eyes.

"Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

"Yes. No. I mean, yes, I'm okay. No, you didn't hurt me. I just...wasn't expecting it."

"I forgot."

She waved away his words and placed a gentle hand on his cheek.

"It's okay, Jethro. I'm fine."

"You sure?"

She nodded and pulled him down to her. He stopped just short of kissing her lips and she frowned.

"Have you?"

After a moment, his implication clicked in her mind and she shook her head.

"It's been so hard."

"You know I'm always here, right?"

She nodded.

"Yes. Now. Kiss me."

He did as she asked and when he broke away from her, she was laughing.

"What? Was it really that bad?"

"No," she took a shaky breath, "I was just thinking...would you be up to the task of making sure that I'd been _fucked properly_ by the end of the night?"

Remembering her rant from earlier, he laughed, lifting her from the table. As he set her on her feet, he nodded in the direction of the stairs.

"Ladies first."

* * *

When he barked his answer into the telephone on his desk that evening, he couldn't have been more unprepared for the voice waiting for him on the other end.

"Jethro?"

"Director Shepard. What can I do for you?"

He could feel the eyes of his team on him and he covered the receiver for a moment.

"Don't you have work to do?"

As they scrambled, he smirked.

"Sorry about that. How can I help you, Director?"

"I need you to come upstairs. Now."

"Okay?"

It was a question, and he knew that she would understand what he was asking.

"No. I don't know if I can stop myself. I want to more than anything."

Shit.

"Be right there."

Without another word, he hung up, ignoring the questions of DiNozzo and Ziva, taking the stairs two at a time. For once, Cynthia didn't attempt to stop him, no doubt having been forewarned that Jenny had requested his presence.

When he opened the door, at first he didn't see her. After a moment, he found her curled up next to the couch, sitting on her hands. Her entire body was shaking and he knelt down in front of her, trying not to show his worry.

"Jen? What happened?"

She shook her head and he placed his hand under her chin, forcing her to look at him.

"Jenny?"

"I really screwed up. I made a call that I shouldn't have. It put two of our best agents in serious danger, and-"  
"Are you talking about Tony and Ziva? They can handle being undercover. They're trained very well."

"Still. It was stupid."

He shook his head.

"Nope. You did exactly what I would have. And it worked, Jen. It's okay. They're both fine."

He watched her carefully and he glanced around the room.

"What do you have?"

"One of Ducky's scalpels."

"Where?"

Silence.

"Jen," his voice was firm and she glanced up at him for a fraction of a second, "Where?"

"Bottom desk drawer. Under my sidearm."

He stood and went to retrieve it. He opened her door and made his way over to Cynthia's desk.

"Make sure this gets back to Dr. Mallard," he said quietly, "Be discreet."

She nodded, taking the scalpel from him.

"Is the Director okay?"

"Fine," he said with a smile that he wasn't sure she bought.

When he returned to her office, she still hadn't moved from her position on the floor and he held out his hand.

"Can you stand?"

She nodded and her fingers closed around his outstretched hand. He noticed how white her skin was and he wondered how long she had been there.

"Jen? How long did you wait to call me?"

"About half an hour. I tried to do it on my own."

He led her to her chair and when she sank tiredly into it, he looked at her seriously.

"Does Cynthia know?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Good. Then between the three of us, we should be able to get through this."

He kissed her cheek and lingered for a moment.

"I love you," he whispered.

She gave him a weak smile.

"I love you, too. And thank you."

"Anytime."

He gave her one last smile and made sure to close her door tightly as he left. He paused at her assistant's desk and leaned over, his eyes serious.

"Keep an eye on her. If anything seems off, and I mean _anything_, you call me."

Cynthia nodded. As he walked away, she found herself smiling. It really was sweet, how much he cared for her boss. She wondered how long it would take for them to go public with their relationship. Thanks to a drunken night with Jenny, she knew all about it, and while she was greatly concerned for her boss's health, she was glad that at least she wouldn't be facing it alone.

She stood from her desk, making her way into Jenny's office, and the redhead smiled when she saw her.

"Did Agent Gibbs ask you to check up on me?"

"Yes, ma'am. But in all seriousness, how are you?"

"I'm...honestly, I'm tired, Cynthia."

The young woman nodded understandingly.

"It's late, Director. Why don't you get some rest?"

Jenny shook her head.

"I still have to sign a few reports. Shouldn't take more than half an hour. Would you like to join me for a drink while I finish?"

Cynthia smiled. It wasn't often that she and her boss got to spend time as just friends. She genuinely enjoyed spending time with Jenny.

"I'd love to."

* * *

When Jethro's phone rang an hour and forty-five minutes later, he frowned.

"Gibbs."

"So professional...aren't you ever just a man, Jethro?"

He frowned again, beyond confused.

"Jen?"

"Correct. Are you busy?"

"That depends. Why are you asking?"

"Calm down, Jethro. This isn't a booty call. I need a ride."

He could hear the sound of someone else laughing in the background and sighed.

"Where are you?"

"My office. Cynthia and I had a few drinks after work and I don't particularly feel like wrapping my car around a tree tonight."

"Put Cynthia on."

He heard a light shuffling and a laugh that could only belong to an intoxicated Jenny.

"Yes, Agent Gibbs?"

"Is she safe?"

"Perfectly. I definitely don't think she should drive, though."

"What about you? How are you getting home?"

"My boyfriend is on his way, Agent Gibbs. Thank you for asking."

"Put her back on."

"Yes, sir."

"Jen?"

She laughed and he sighed, running a hand over his face. He supposed it was a sign of trust that she'd called him to take her home, but he couldn't believe how much she'd been drinking lately.

"Jen, listen to me. Stay with Cynthia until I get there."

He hung up without giving her a chance to answer him. Women...he swore that they were out to kill him...

Cynthia frowned when she saw the still-healing cut on Jenny's arm and tapped her shoulder lightly.

"What happened to your arm?"

Jenny glanced at it and looked away quickly. Cynthia felt tears in her eyes and reached out to touch the older woman's hand. She'd known that her boss had been struggling lately, but she hadn't known that it had been this bad.

"Agent Gibbs gave me a scalpel of Dr. Mallard's today. Was that what you used?"

Jenny shook her head.

"No, this was a week or so ago. He's been...absolutely wonderful with helping me. I can never repay him for it. I don't know how to thank him."

"Are you still...together?"

Jenny nodded.

"I just don't know how much longer he's going to put up with me. He's going to get tired of cleaning up my messes. I've loved him ever since we worked together in 1999. I don't want to lose him again."

"I'm not going anywhere, Jen."

Jenny whipped around to the door, nearly toppling over from her place on the floor. She jumped up as quickly as she could and tried to straighten her skirt.

"Jethro! How long have you-"

"Long enough. Cynthia, your boyfriend is in the lobby waiting. I told him you'd be right down."

Cynthia nodded, wrapping her arms around Jenny lightly.

"Have a good night, ma'am."

"You too, Cynthia. Good night."

Once they were alone, Jenny held her body as close to Jethro's as she could and when he placed a light kiss on her head, she smiled.

"I promise, Jen. I'm not going anywhere."

As he led her out of the office, she buried her head in his chest, inhaling his scent. He didn't properly kiss her until they were in the elevator, and when the metal doors opened, Jenny smiled to herself, hoping that just once, she wouldn't mess this up. Just once. Surely that wasn't too much to ask.

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**A/N: Love it? Hate it? Indifferent? Please let me know. Reviews make me smile.**


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